


Cause Effect

by idharao



Category: 20th Century CE RPF, Astaire/Rogers RPF, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers - Fandom, RPF - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:04:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idharao/pseuds/idharao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the most beautiful consequences of her partnership with him is that she's acquired the ability to fly, even just for a few seconds at a time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause Effect

The day rehearsal begins she arrives early, taking advantage of the empty rehearsal room to warm up alone. She closes her eyes, and stretches, stretches the past few weeks out of herself; the fights with Lew, the sense of disquiet that caused her some sleepless nights. Now she is back among things she knows; scuffed wooden floors scarred with the work of weeks and months, the mirror that gets polished once every week or so and that witnesses everything that goes on between her and her dancing partner, the record player the studio spent good money on so that they could run grooves into the records.

She uses the barre like a tool, extending her arms and legs and working towards the beautiful freedom she feels when she dances. Her joints crack once in a while as she changes positions, and she feels her body loosen itself gradually. Along with her body comes her heart, and for a moment her throat closes painfully and tears sting.

She spins, her arms drawing gracefully to her body. One arm extends over her head, her eyes follow. Blue eyes, framed by impossibly long lashes, that track her movements and close when she turns, focused on the spin, the way it seems to give her an axis.

She needs an axis.

A salvo of taps, a sweeping arabesque, a leap that surprises her even as she feels herself fly for just a moment. That feeling is one of the most beautiful consequences of her partnership with him.

She feels like her feet can eat up the floor, and that she can defy gravity when he dances with her. Distance is nothing, height is nothing. She can jump to the moon.

She takes the floor in graceful strides, the confidence she lacks sometimes coming to her in waves and tendrils and swirling eddies of joy that seep and mingle into the unquiet thoughts she carries with her. Like a balm (sometimes she wishes for Gilead; she wonders if her soul is as sin-sick as she fears), there is dance.

Another spin, and her eyes open halfway through to find him standing in the doorway, smiling. Since she can't stop the rotation of her body she continues, but she spots using him as her focal point. "Good morning," she says, inertia taking its course.

He comes to her, the taps on his shoes making noise on the floor. He takes her hand, spins her again and draws her close. "Good morning, precious girl," he says, and again her throat catches. Another spin banishes the tension, and he pulls her into a quick reprise of "Hard to Handle," just a momentary flash of something beautiful and ecstatically fun.

A smile. He smiles first and she responds, and as they reorient themselves to each other she feels her axis like a tangible thing. Then she smiles and he answers her with the curve of his lips that wrinkles the corners of his eyes. The familiarity is overwhelmingly comforting for a moment; she disguises her emotion with a cheeky grin and a quick, improvisatory step that takes her away from him and back to him. His hands are on her hips, her waist, her back. She holds on.

They fall into place and for the rest of the day she flies unencumbered.


End file.
